


Chaos Bringer Chaos Lover

by barricadebastard



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ((though they're technically not boyfriends yet)), Bar fights, Fluff, M/M, Trans Aaron, Trans John, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, a tad angsty, cleaning up ya boyfriends wounds ya get me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadebastard/pseuds/barricadebastard
Summary: Prompt: "It's a shame no one asked for your opinion."Aaron cleans John up after a bar fight.





	Chaos Bringer Chaos Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaosgiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosgiver/gifts).



> title is based off the person this fic is actually for, chaosgiver on tumblr!! you should follow them
> 
> originally posted on my tumblr @hhhercules-mulligan (link at the end notes if you're lazy like me)

Aaron eyed Laurens, unsure of whether he should say anything. The man had walked into their dorm, limping and beaten half to death. There was a hideous bruise swelling on his forehead, and his left eye was swollen and purple. He was limping as he walked, clearly favouring his right leg over his left. Aaron was willing to bet money that there was an issue with his ribs too, considering how stiff his upper torso was and how his arms came up repetitively to wrap around it

“Maybe you should go to the hospital,” Aaron suggested cautiously. This, apparently, was a bad idea, as Laurens turned around to glare at him, a fire in his eyes. It was fierce enough that Aaron took a step back - a feat, considering they had been rooming together for two years now. Aaron liked to think he was desensitized to Laurens’ aggressiveness, but it was moments like these that reminded him that it would take far longer time to get used to it.

“Yeah? Well, it’s a real shame that nobody asked for your opinion,” Laurens spat.

Aaron was silent, waiting. Two years ago, Laurens would have simply walked away, but Aaron had seen him mature and mellow out in those years. Laurens still snapped at people when feeling cornered or vulnerable, but he tended to give a somewhat sincere apology afterward.

Sure enough, Laurens turned to him again, looking marginally guilty. “Sorry,” he said gruffly.

“It’s fine,” Aaron said easily. He followed Laurens into the kitchen, watching as he struggled to reach the first aid kit that was at the top of the cupboard. He seemed to be unable to lift his arm up high enough to reach the kit. Knowing Laurens, he would be too proud to ask for help. “Here, let me,” Aaron said, gently guiding Laurens away so he could reach the kit.

“Thanks,” Laurens said. “Could you… uh…” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Sure,” Aaron said. It was the closest Laurens would get to asking for help.

He guided Laurens to a kitchen chair, watching as he winced whilst sitting down. The most obvious of his injuries were the bruises, so he dealt with those first, handing Laurens an ice-pack to press against both his forehead and his eye. He opened Laurens’ shirt (thank god it had buttons - Aaron wasn’t in the mood for a completely shirtless Laurens when he was supposed to be focusing on helping him.

His ribs weren’t nearly as bad as Aaron was expecting, all things considered. Slightly bruised, but would heal with time and rest. Aaron took a second ice pack and pressed it against that too, ignoring Laurens’ pained hiss. Next, he began tending to the various little cuts across his face and hands.

“Any chance there’s glass in these cuts?” Aaron asked as he stepped away to wash his hands. The last thing he needed now was for the cuts to get infected.

“Doubt it. It was a pretty clean area, not the usual back alley.”

“What happened this time?”

Laurens looked at him, then away. “Just some asshole bein’ an asshole. You know. The usual.”

“What did he say?”

Laurens tensed and, for a while, was silent. Aaron didn’t mind letting him drop the conversation, especially if it was something so upsetting to him that he felt the need to get into a fight despite promising Hercules he’d stay out of any violent altercations. He continued to carefully wipe the cuts, applying antiseptic and covering them with plasters decorated with Spiderman. So when Laurens answered the question Aaron had almost forgotten, Aaron was startled.

“He was being a dick to this trans woman,” Laurens said suddenly. “She was… Jesus fuckin’ Christ, she wasn’t even doin’ anythin’, she was just havin’ a drink and he was gettin’ all up in her ass about it… it’s just… fuck.”

Aaron hummed.

“She literally didn’t say a word, and one minute he was callin’ her all sorts of shit and the next he was gettin’ all physical. So, I had to, you know?”

“I get it,” Aaron reassured. “Stay still, please.”

Laurens fell silent again.

Aaron was finishing with the last cut, sticking the plaster on. Laurens seemed to be too busy brooding

“What are you thinking?” Aaron asked. Laurens wasn’t the type for a deep heart-to-heart with someone he wasn’t extremely close with, but he looked like he was having an existential crisis and Aaron knew from experience that keeping everything bottled up would never be healthy (not that he listened to his own advice, but that was irrelevant to the point). Laurens needed to vent, and Aaron was willing to listen if the other man chose to take the opportunity.

“It’s just… Why do they hate people like us?”

Ah. Aaron couldn’t exactly answer that. “I’m not sure. But all that matters is that we don’t hate ourselves.”

Laurens went silent again. Aaron got the feeling he wasn’t done though, so he remained there, kneeling on the kitchen floor with an open pack of first-aid next to him and a broken man sitting on a chair in front of him. Strangely enough, it was a situation that he was more than used to. That was… a little sad, now that he thought about it.

“I hate myself sometimes,” Laurens admitted. His voice was quiet, much quieter than it normally was, and he sounded painfully broken. He sounded like a man whose world had shattered to pieces in front of his very eyes and was alone to pick up the remaining shards. “I just think it’d be so much easier if I was a white cishet dude, you know? But I’m not, I’m a trans gay Latino and I’ve got an entire fuckin’ cocktail of mental illnesses and daddy issues on top of that. And every time I wake up, I think about how much easier my life would be if I… weren’t me. And I hate myself for being me.”

Aaron wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Strangely enough, Laurens’ little monologue was one that he was very familiar with, wondering how much he was being held back by his identity and fantasising of a life where being a black trans man didn’t sabotage his chances in politics. 

“My mother used to say,” Aaron began, ignoring the twinge of pain he felt in his chest as he thought of her kind face. “That we are given our struggles because God believes we can handle it.”

Laurens gave him a strange look. “I don’t believe in God.”

“Neither do I,” Aaron said lightly. His hand seemed to move of its own accord to rest on Laurens’ cheek - the one with the least cuts. It was a bad move, considering Aaron was never touchy with people and Laurens didn’t seem the time to appreciate a good snuggle either, but… shit. His hand was there now, and there was no point moving it. Plus, Laurens had surprisingly smooth skin for someone whose skincare routine consisted of washing his face in the morning. Aaron wasn’t going to begrudge a chance to touch it. “But it’s nice to think that we can handle something others can’t. Imagine switching positions with a rich cishet white dude. He’d be a mess in a single week.”

Laurens snorted, looking more like himself than he had since he came home. “Are you tellin’ me to stay alive out of spite?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Aaron agreed, smiling.

The smile slid slowly off Laurens’ face but he didn’t look sad. He looked… contemplative, like he was considering something and maybe questioning the existence of humanity and the meaning of consciousness and other philosophical things. His brow was furrowed, and Aaron’s gaze lingered on the creases in his forehead. Surely that would mean he was more likely to get wrinkles when he grew older. Aaron wasn’t entirely sure, but he made a note to research it later on when he got his-

Oh.

Laurens was kissing him.

Aaron barely had time to react before Laurens was moving away.

“Shit, sorry, that was… inappropriate,” he said quickly, avoiding Aaron’s gaze.

“A little,” Aaron agreed, dazed, before realising what he had said. “Not that that’s a bad thing. Appropriateness can be somewhat overrated in certain situations.”

Laurens looks bemused. “Does… this count as one of those situations?”

Aaron smiled. “Hm. I’m not sure. It looks like you’ll have to kiss me again so I can figure it out.”

Laurens snorted, the smile from earlier reappearing on his face as he grabbed Aaron by the collar of his t-shirt.

“You’re not smooth, Mr. Burr,” Laurens said before he was kissing Aaron roughly. Now that Aaron was more prepared, he got to appreciate how soft Laurens’ lips were, how his hand wandered gently and traced his neck and jawline and cheek gently, a direct contrast to the roughness of the kiss, as he nipped and bit and sucked. It was aggressive, and Aaron hadn’t expected anything less from John Laurens, of all people. His own hand had found its way back to Laurens’ cheek, cradling his face gently and stroking his cheekbone with his thumb.

When they separated again, both were panting.

“Jesus Christ,” Aaron said.

“Just John is fine.”

“Don’t be so big-headed, Laurens.”

Laurens pulled a face. “Don’t call me that. You can’t make out with me then call me by my surname.”

“Did you not just call me Mr. Burr?” Aaron asked, amused. “I’d say that’s more formal than ‘Laurens’.”

“Unironically, I meant,” Laurens said, rolling his eyes. He leaned in again to press a soft kiss against Aaron’s lips again. “Call me John.”

“Only if you kiss me again.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have zero self-control. i have this fake-dating victuuri fic i'm working on and i wanted to reach 10,000 words before posting but im 4000 words in and i already wanna post it, i hate myself 
> 
> send me more prompts, either from [this list](http://hhhercules-mulligan.tumblr.com/post/162544629568/writing-prompts), from another prompt post or just any old prompt you'd want to see! my tumblr is [hhhercules-mulligan](http://www.hhhercules-mulligan.tumblr.com)


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